Six
by spottedhorse
Summary: Sam has six things on her mind as she and Foyle finish dinner one night. She is determined not to let those six things deter her.


I'm a later comer to Foyle's War, only just discovering it as it ended. But I've gone back and fed hungrily off of each episode and read and re-read every bit of ff here. I have to say the writer's in this fandom are some of the best I've ever read on this site; kudos to all! It makes me a little nervous but I decided to dip my toes in and try out the waters. I'm not quite sure I've captured these two but here goes...

Oh, and the timeline is a little off. For starters, Foyle finished his book...

* * *

Six… there were six buttons on that waistcoat of his. She knew it as readily as she knew her own name. Away from his home, it was a rare thing to see him in anything but his dapper suits, even though he seemed to wear the same ones all through the war. While his position afforded him financial security, Christopher Foyle was not a rich man but one would never know it from his attire as smartly outfitted he always seemed to be. He rarely buttoned his jacket and only the coldest of weather would force him to button his coat. But that waistcoat, those six buttons… they were his line of demarcation, his line in the sand. And she was determined to cross that line or at the least, find a way to get him to open the gate.

That was the sole line of thought wandering through Sam Stewart's mind as she sat opposite him at the table in the restaurant of the Royal Victoria. He'd suggested dinner that evening, a celebration of sorts now that his book was finished. But for Sam, it felt like the end of something and hardly a reason to celebrate. Now as her mind contemplated those six buttons, she assumed the challenge of breaking through the barrier they represented.

Christopher Foyle, ever the observant detective, knew there was something brewing in that agile mind of hers. Their years of close proximity had taught him to read her nuances and where other people might mistake her seemingly blank gaze in his direction as day dreaming, he knew better. She was contemplating something, probably something outrageous, and it most surely involved him. That knowledge sent a pulse through him that was both pleasant and frightening.

He'd done a creditable job of keeping a distance between them over the years, in spite of the thoughts and impulses that often ran through him. There had been an opportunity or two with others along the way to reacquaint himself with the pleasures of feminine contact but despite the offerings, his mind and body seemed to reject them. There was only one female with which he truly wished to rediscover those pleasures, it seemed; and she was most assuredly forbidden to him.

Years ago, when he was hardly more than a lad, still wet behind the ears really, he'd courted someone who proved to be forbidden to him. It had stung when the rejection finally came and they'd both been hurt by it. As the years passed, he discovered that she'd carried the pain of their separation far longer than he had. Elizabeth had confessed as much to him not too many years ago. Caroline hadn't rejected him but there had been a line there that couldn't be crossed. She was married and not to him. So despite their feelings and as he discovered a child, she had walked away. That had hurt too, in a different way. Rosalind had been the complete opposite of rejection, a warm woman who'd accepted his foibles with understanding and more than a little good humor. She never rejected him but in the end, she'd been placed in the forbidden category as well and it had taken him years to recover.

Then along came Samantha Stewart, Sam. Young, vivacious, curious, a quick mind, a knack for getting into mischief, and an infinite ray of sunshine that cut through his gloom to shine even in his darkened heart. She'd set him on edge at first and then threw him off kilter regularly for some time after that. And quietly she had stolen into his heart to take up permanent residence, although he daren't let her know there was a special place there reserved just for her. Over the years, she caught him off guard less and less as he came to expect that she was just one large bundle of surprises. But today, just now… he felt one coming. So he waited.

Sam could feel him watching her with expectation. She could even sense the amusement that loitered just below the surface of his patient demeanor. Oh why did he have to be so… _him_? He sat there, his jacket slipped open as his hands sat nestled in his lap just off center, his fingers interlaced casually, one leg resting over the other one, the picture of nonchalance. And he was smirking at her! It wasn't a bold sort of expression, more of a quiet one, but wry, so very wry; just like him. And it made her want to conquer those buttons even more. Didn't he realize what he did to her, what he made her feel, especially in moments like this? Oh, he was a devil of a man!

She knew he considered her out of bounds; not that she'd ever seen evidence that he considered any living woman _in_ bounds. Of course, there had been that Barbara Hicks woman but … well, he'd just shown her kindness, hadn't he? He might have felt something for her but whatever it was, it hadn't shaken him from his position of grieving widower. Something tickled in her mind… he hadn't seemed quite so bereft the last couple of years, she realized. Trying to analyze it more, her mind drifted back to when she'd had anthrax. That's when something in him had changed, perhaps? But she couldn't quite sort it and left it to ponder another time. Right now she needed to focus on those darned buttons.

"Would you like another drink? Or should we leave?" he finally asked softly. There was such consideration in his voice that it made her want to melt. But then that was one of the things she loved about him, wasn't it? Her eyes widened at the notion; had she just told herself that she loved him? Quick contemplation assured her that she did. _Oh golly!_

"Sam? Are you alright?" he asked, leaning forward slightly to try to get a better look at her face. Something had startled her; he was sure of it. But he couldn't imagine what.

"What? Right…. Yes, I'm…fine."

"So, another drink? Or shall we go?"

Sam looked up into his eyes, twinkling blue orbs that often expressed his thoughts in ways words could never. And right now there was something there, something she didn't quite understand but she thought it was good; and it was something to do with her. And that gave her courage. "Yes, let's go," she said cheerfully.

Their dinner concluded, she was at a loss for how to proceed next. He would probably walk her home, to her home, and that would be the end of it. But he surprised her when he veered off the road near a path that led to the beach. "Care for a stroll?" he asked as he turned to peer at her in the dark.

It was a beautiful night, a clear sky and the stars were bright over the ocean as they walked along the cobblestones of the waterfront. She was contemplating how to make the night last with him and glanced over to see him looking pensively ahead. Edging closer to him, Sam made her first bold move in her newly organized but not yet complete plan of attack. She tucked her arm in at his elbow, linking the two of them physically.

His head swiveled around and tilting to look down at the point of contact and then rose to give him a better view of her face, well her profile anyway because she keep her eyes front. But she could feel his hesitance and his confusion. She knew he was working the inside of his cheek, as he often did when thinking, and then she heard the small smack that he sometimes made as his thoughts concluded. "Sam?" He asked quietly and sounded very perplexed.

"Sir?" She tried to keep her tone light and natural, as if they walked arm in arm regularly.

"You um…. Hhave something on your mind?" His tone was equally light but still very bewildered.

"Yes. I have six things on my mind," she replied brightly.

"Six? That many? What's erm, troubling you?"

"Rather not say just now," she replied.

"Anything I can help with?"

That made Sam pause. Anything he could help with… of course he could. But she sensed that if she told him what was on her mind, he'd flee. "Perhaps…eventually," she finally answered.

"You'll tell me then? If I can help?"

"Right. Yes, you'll know…"

Foyle couldn't quite ferret out what was on Sam's mind. But her behavior was …unusual; especially the physical contact between the two of them. It wasn't that he minded having her on his arm; it was quite exhilarating actually. What man wouldn't want the vibrant, beautiful Sam Stewart on his arm? But it wasn't how they were, not customary at all. Whatever was bothering her, he deduced that it wasn't ominous; she didn't seem worried, just… A smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, threatening to dip into one of his quietly amused upside down smiles. Sam was plotting something and it involved him, he recognized. But what? What could she possibly be planning that would involve him? And what had she said…. Six somethings bothering her? "Let's head back, shall we?" he asked gently.

She turned with him but retained custody of his arm, a very pleasing circumstance for Foyle, until they reached the road and he turned them toward her place.

Sam's next bold move came as he walked her to her door. He didn't always do that and Sam took it as a good sign that he had done so tonight. Her proper gentleman was concluding their evening out properly. That's when she made her next move. Leaning forward, she kissed him ever so gently on his cheek, but lingered long enough for him to grasp that it wasn't a casual peck between friends. She had to bite the inside of her own cheek not to laugh at his wide eyed surprise when she stepped back. "Sam?" He looked completely bowled over.

"Good night Sir," she chirped as she turned and opened her door.

Her back to him, she was able to hide her grin when she heard him mumble, "wull if that's the way it's going to be, mmaybe you'd better call me Christopher." Sam pretended not to hear him and softly closed the door behind her. Peeking through the curtain, she saw him standing there a moment or two, hands in pockets, just staring at the door. Then finally, he shook his head and turned back to the pavement. A moment later he had disappeared around the corner.

Christopher Foyle had a restless night. What had Sam meant with that overly long peck to his cheek; well, not a peck really but hardly a real kiss either. When he closed his eyes he could feel the warm contact of her lips on his skin still. He rolled over and tried to clear his mind as he had done countless times already. The clock on his nightstand mocked him with the slow passage of time until finally exhaustion won out and he fell into a fitful sleep.

He woke an hour later than normal but decided that would be alright. The other problem he had upon waking wasn't though. Even in his exhaustion, his body betrayed him by producing a prominent early morning surprise, much more so than he'd experienced in several years. He groaned as he grasped the reason behind his body's betrayal. It was that damned kiss. And if waking in such a condition wasn't bad enough, the damned thing insisted on standing upright, despite his best mental efforts to deflate it. Surrendering at last, he trudged to the bathroom to undermine that rebellious part of himself.

It felt odd that morning knowing that Sam wouldn't come knocking on his door later. With the book finished, there really was no need for her to continue coming to his house. She'd proven to be a terrible typist and in truth he would have finished the book much quicker without her services. But it had been an excuse, he realized; an excuse to see her regularly. And now there was no longer an excuse. He pondered that awhile longer before trying to think of a new project. After all, one could only fish so much.

But fishing it was, at least for the next few days. He fished so much that he had far too many to consume on his own. He gave some to his friend Hugh Reid for the family. He also gave a couple to Milner and to one of his neighbors. But as he stood staring down at the small school that was currently gracing his kitchen table top, inspiration struck. Sam was always hungry; she might like some fresh fish. So he put several away in his ice box and set out with the rest, headed for her place.

It was a beautiful Saturday, sunny with just a few light clouds in the sky. People were in the streets tending to their usual Saturday tasks and enjoying the day as well. Children were playing in the gardens as he passed the houses, for once the evils of the war far from their minds. It all combined to make his step a little lighter and his shoulders feel a little less burdened. Besides, he would see Sam. Yes, it was a beautiful day indeed.

As he walked up the lane from one direction he spied her walking from the other towards her place. She was carrying her shopping bags which were obviously filled with her week's rations. His fish would make a fine addition to her treasure, he thought happily to himself as he met her at her door.

"Sir!" She chirped happily.

Christopher Foyle couldn't begin to explain how happy the sight of her smiling at him in surprise made him. She looked at him expectantly and also a little curiously, which left him tongue tied for the right words. She looked too… beautiful wasn't quite the word; certainly pretty was too weak a word to describe how she looked to him. Radiant? While she did look it, his mind dismissed the word as well. No, she was far more than that. She was… she was Sam, all brightness and cheer, innocence and curiosity, verve and vitality… everything right in the world with none of the ills weighing her down. It wasn't that Sam was unaware of the evils that surrounded them; she simply chose to ignore them generally. And instead, she looked for the good. Foyle had the odd feeling that she had searched for it in him even in his darkest moments and even though sometimes he confused her, she generally believed him a good man. She certainly made him want to be a better man. But now she stood before him, her dancing eyes watching him with an uncharacteristic patience as if she knew that he had a puzzle that wouldn't quite come together in his mind, the puzzle of Sam and him …. together.

He held up the fish like a proud schoolboy, grinning from ear to ear with excitement. "I brought you some fish."

"Oh," she said with a little surprise. Shifting the weight of the bags in her arms, she eyed them eagerly, her mind already contemplating the best method of preparation. "Oh, that's jolly good…. Wonderful in fact," she continued with her usual enthusiasm. "But that's too many for just me," she sighed, not wanting to disappoint her former boss. She couldn't remember ever having seen him looking this pleased. No, didn't want to spoil that!

"Oh," he responded, a little deflated. "I'um gave the others to everyone I know. I thought…"

"Perhaps you'd like to join me?" she chirped eagerly. "Golly, we could have feast with the fish and the vegetables I just bought."

"You mean…now?"

"Well, it is almost time for tea. We could make a meal of it."

Foyle was unusually befuddled. He hadn't started out to do more than simply see her for a few minutes and now she was inviting him to… to what? His eyes were wide as he looked at her, a look she'd often seen as feigned innocence. But on this occasion, she thought he was truly caught unawares.

Finally the chaos cleared from his mind and he glanced down at his fishing attire. "I um, I'm 'fraid I'm not really dressed for…"

"Oh you'll do fine," she quipped as she opened the door to admit them both. "It isn't as if you've asked me out for a fine dinner; it's just tea between friends although it is more than tea but it isn't as if we were dining out and besides I do get so tired of eating alone, don't you?" She managed to finish all in one breath, one of her many talents, Foyle thought with amusement.

"Alright then," he agreed, a mixture of happy anticipation and nerves churning inside.

He helped with the preparation. Remembering that she had at one time only one real dish in her culinary repertoire, he was pleased to see that she'd used the intervening years to hone her skills in the kitchen. He worked over the inside of his cheek as he wondered why that should please him.

Sam watched him as he worked beside her in the kitchen and as they sat down to eat. Over the years she'd learned that Christopher Foyle was a man of few spoken words buy often said much by way of his expressions. That was certainly the case now. His face was alive with activity, his eyes wary but inquisitive as he asked her about her plans now that he was retired. "Surely your parents will expect you back home now that you are no longer with the MTC… or with me."

She thought she detected a hint of regret as he looked at her, waiting for her answer. But what was it he was regretting? "Yes, well… Father has hinted at my return but so far I've managed to put him off. Helping you with the book seemed to satisfy him for awhile but now… " She worked her mouth in that tentative way that Foyle had come to recognize whenever she was contemplating something that might not be well received.

After a few moments of her continued silence and a far away expression in her eyes, he decided to prod. "And now? You mean since you are not helping me with the book? Why should your father's opinion change now?"

"Well, as long as I was helping you I was still under your protection. At least, that's the way he saw it. But now I'm not. And I think there is nothing that frightens my father more than the idea of me loose in society."

Foyle studied her face looking for signs of what she really meant. Loose in society? Sam had never been anything but proper as far as he knew. Oh, there had been times when she'd skirted the lines but the idea of her actually ever crossing them was alien to him. Not Sam; not his darling Sam…

He blinked. Where had that come from? His darling Sam…. What right had he to think of her in that way? But as he looked up at her and saw her despondent expression, his heart tightened gripping in his chest the knowledge that right or not, he loved the woman seated across from him. If he was fifteen years younger, or even ten; but he wasn't and she was far too young and vivacious to be happy tied to him. It might work for awhile but in another ten years… what then? But there was a rebellious part of him that insisted. So what? Who knows what another ten years would bring. And how long were you with Rosalind, hmmmm? There are no guarantees, his mind asserted. Even if he could get past his own reservations though, what about her feelings? Surely she didn't… couldn't feel the same about him? But the way she was looking at him just now did make him wonder. Perhaps?

"Loose?" he teased, an eyebrow quirked questioningly as he tilted his head.

A delightful pink blush crept up her face a she realized his meaning. Of course she hadn't meant it like _that_! "I…not like that, sir!"

Pleased that her sorrowful expression had left, his mouth quirked and threatened to bloom into a smile. The only question in her mind was if it would be one of his more sedate half smiles where his lips curved up or would it be one of his deeper smiles where the curve was down, making his smile appear upside down. And then his eyes settled on her, so soft and tender and full of… something. What was he thinking?

"Is that mind of yours ever quiet behind those eyes?" she asked bravely.

In that instant everything stopped for him. He simply sat there staring at her, his eyes wide and to her way of thinking a little dazed with almost the same expression he'd worn on the first day they met when she'd marched into his office to report for duty. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of felling much the same as he had that day, disconcerted and mystified but there were added emotions after so much time spent together. Without a word he stood, still watching her carefully. She thought to match his movement but she remained seated, frozen by the expression on his face.

Sam watched as he stepped closer to her and held out his hand for her to grasp, which she did while keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his. They drew her to him, those clear blue, soulful eyes of his. And when she stood face to face with him, his other hand lifted to her face, gently caressing the line of her jaw, and then…

Christopher Foyle hadn't truly kissed a woman in over a decade. But as his lips met hers, he discovered it wasn't something which one forgot how to do. In fact, it all came back to him rather quickly. He sensed that she was startled by his actions, although not opposed to them. It gave him courage to linger over his task. Her lips were warm, soft and supple as he tasted them. Emboldened by the fact that she wasn't resisting and indeed was leaning into his kiss, he pulled her closer to him and began to trace her lips with his tongue, teasing and testing. His sanity was lost when she opened to him and allowed him access, her own tongue joining in the exploration. By the end of the long sensuous kiss, Christopher Foyle was a man on fire.

Some bit of reason fidgeted in the back of his mind telling him that perhaps he wasn't holding her quite properly and that perhaps he was being too fervent in his kisses. Slowly that bit of reason hammered through to the front of his mind and he began to draw away reluctantly. He needed to give her a chance to know what she was thinking and feeling.

Disappointment etched her face. Well at least it wasn't revulsion, he thought as the reality of what he had just done sank in. "Sam, I'm sor…." Her hand flew to his lips silencing him. Shaking her head, her eyes wide in astonishment and perhaps wonder, she swallowed.

"Unexpected?" he suggested.

"Yes," she admitted as she ducked her head. "But not unwelcome. I… I've dreamed of that so many times," she confessed abashedly.

Well if it was time for true confessions, then Foyle decided it was his turn. "So have I," he whispered. "I'm terribly wrong for you, Sam; but I can't help the way I feel. And at the moment, I feel as if I'd rather like to do that again."

Her head snapped up and she looked him squarely in the eyes, her own eyes giving away so much of what she was feeling, a mirror to his own emotions. Without further hesitation, he claimed her lips again, pressing for a deeper kiss, and then lingering as it finished. Resting his forehead against hers, he relished the closeness of her, the sound of her quickened breathing, the flutter of her eyelashes, and the feel of her in his arms.

She stirred a little. "Why… why did you say you are wrong for me?" she finally queried.

"I should think it is obvious, Sam. I'm old enough to be your father. You deserve someone young, nearer to you in age and outlook. I'm jaded and getting on. You should have someone still full of dreams."

Her arms tightened around him as she leaned in just enough to kiss his cheek, a long lingering and sweet caress with her lips. "I've tried things with younger men who were more my age and my outlook. I find I prefer men who know who they are and what they want. Actually, make that one man like that. In fact, make that man… you."

His eyes closed involuntarily as he relished the sweetness of her words. But then sanity returned and he backed away a step. "No Sam," he sighed. "You say that now but in ten years… It wouldn't be fair for me to ask you …"

"Ask me anything and my answer will be yes," she blurted hurriedly. "I don't care about ten years…well, I do but its just, so much has happened in the past five and to think in time even longer than that is difficult. So much can happen, good or bad. And we can't know what it will be but I do know that I can't imagine them happening without you. We've seen so many people doing things that they wouldn't normally do and said it was because of the war and that might be true. But I do know that I would have fallen in love with you no matter what. It isn't the war and it isn't that I look up to you," she paused and took a breath, shaking her head. "I mean, I do…look up to you but its more. I've stepped out with other men and I've even felt something for them but it wasn't… they didn't make me feel… " Her eyes closed as she tried to clarify her thoughts. Then she looked up at him imploringly. "I love you and those feelings are honest. And they aren't going to change just because you or my father or anyone else seems to worry about the difference in our ages."

"Thank you for that," he replied with a quirk at his mouth. "You managed not to say I am too old. But I am, Sam. You'll want children and a full life. You deserve someone with whom you might grow old. As much as I would like to think it might be possible for us, I just can't see it."

She looked at him as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle. After a moment, her forehead furrowed slightly and he knew a tough question was coming. In a moment's time his wait for it ended. "Can you envision how you will feel as you watch me settle for second best and settle into a life that doesn't make me happy, perhaps content but never truly happy?"

He felt his knees weaken and his insides clinch as he listened to her question. "I've never been capable of getting past what the image of you walking away on someone else's arm does to me," he answered quietly. "As for the rest… I know only that while I might continue on with a broken heart, I could never live with the thought of you unhappy."

"Then make me happy," she said breezily, full of the savvy innocence that Sam possessed.

"And what might that require?" His eyes sparkled with the tease.

"Well…" she drawled as her fingers reached for the top button of his waistcoat. "It might start with this," she said as she unbuttoned it.

The feel of her at his buttons had his chest pounding frantically. Looking down to watch her as if in a trance, he heard his heartbeat in his ears and thought that surely she must see the effect she was having on him, especially when her fingers moved to the second button. He wanted to ask her what she was doing, knew that he should stop her, but all he could do was watch as she weakened the barrier of his buttons until his waistcoat fell open. Christopher didn't miss the look of victory in her eyes as she saw it happen. Her hand fell flat against his chest with only the light material of his shirt and vest in between and it felt heavenly. He knew he should stop her, knew that this was wrong, but God help him, he couldn't seem t lift his arms to do it. "Sam," he whispered reverently.

Her answering whisper of his name made him look up and she captured his lips with her own. And in that moment Christopher Foyle and all his sense of propriety was lost. He would do whatever she wanted him to do and beg the privilege of it.

Later, weeks later while on their honeymoon, she informed him that she'd given it all considerable thought. And considering all the trouble those six buttons had given her he should give her a child for each one.

"Honestly Sam? Six children? Surely just one or two…"

"I might change my mind after the first four but I think most probably I won't. Six." The gleam in her eyes was unmistakable and once again he felt powerless to resist.

"Wull then… I 'spose we'd better get started", he teased as he nuzzled at her neck. And get started he did.


End file.
